Damn dirty apes: Gorillaz are on our shit list.
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Sheesh. Who knew anyone was actually reading our little podunk paper? DOON accidentally started a major international ruckus last week when we printed that pixie goddess Bj�/B> was reportedly with child—which our sources made us believe was fairly common knowledge amongst the people who knew her. One fairly distressing transatlantic phone call from her manager later, we completely retract that and would like to announce that it is categorically untrue. Apparently, the news spread across fan sites like herpes at a liberal-arts college, and the singer's people had to deal with an avalanche of e-mails and phone calls demanding to know whether she would be honoring her upcoming gigs, among them next month's Coachella Festival. Which she absolutely is. Our sincerest apologies to the artist herself for the misunderstanding and to all rabid fans who had already begun knitting booties. . . . From Andrew Bonazelli comes this report of last Monday's Dead Low Tide appearance: "Throngs of curious Seattle punks flooded Graceland on Monday to scope the first Dead Low Tide show, a.k.a. Murder City II: The Secret of the Ooze. Although 'Monday Funday's' anti-stage logistics prevented anyone shorter than Vin Baker from seeing anything beyond a Spencer Moody bobblehead, we all heard deep, heavy, malicious grooves, strikingly akin to (sigh . . . ) a dead low tide." . . . In crankier news—and maybe it really is just us; everyone else sure seemed to be having a good time—we couldn't help feeling ripped off by last Tuesday's Gorillaz show at the Paramount. The "band" (which members were actually present and which were on DAT was entirely unknown, except for the already official absence of Del tha Funky Homosapien) performed behind a nearly opaque scrim, with the packed-out audience left to gaze at a large video screen featuring their animated alter egos in various random Fantasia op-art configurations. While we enjoyed it for a while, the end result was not unlike Laser Floyd, except that we couldn't even lie down. At $10, it would have been a worthy, mildly entertaining multimedia experiment; at 25 bucks a pop, it was just freakin' insulting. If you couldn't get enough, though, you'll be happy to know a full-length animated feature is currently in the works. . . . Three nights later, the Wu-Tang Clan took over the same stage—and this time the band had the good sense to stand in front of the banner, not behind it. Alas, with ODB still in lockdown and Method Man apparently enjoying himself back at the hotel, it wasn't all the Wu can be (and why was the sound so muddled?), but still very much worth the trip. Meanwhile, same night, different venue, we caught the record release party of everybody's favorite barely legals, the Catheters. Say what you will about the record, live, they're as raw and sexy as all get- out, and we could barely tear ourselves away to catch the rest of Modest Mouse at the Showbox. Luckily, the Mice did not disappoint; the new stuff mingled awesomely with old favorites like "Doin' the Cockroach" and "Trailer Trash," once again reaffirming our love for Issaquah's finest and capping off one of the best—and busiest—nights out we'd had in a while. Saturday night, not surprisingly, was all about getting reacquainted with our old friend the couch. . . . Those who didn't lie low at the homestead, however, like Miss Bethany Jean Clement and 800 of her closest friends, had our fun for us: "Many, many people had COCA to blame for their giant-sized hangover last Sunday, since they threw a giant-sized and hugely fun party (in Seattle!) Saturday night. Black and Raw was swarming with cheerful, generally quite high people looking at metalworkers' studios and art (actual anvils all over the place!), dancing to a B-52s cover band and DJ Riz, bicycle jousting (outside, that is), and happily stumbling around the giant-sized, labyrinthine warehouse. The count at the door was Seattle hasn't been to a party this cool since it lived in San Francisco for a few years." . . . Wacky Pope- antagonizer-turned-ordained-priest Sinead O'Connor will be lending her vocal talents to Massive Attack's long-awaited follow-up to their 1998 release Mezzanine, due out sometime this fall. Says MA member Robert "3-D" Del Naja, "She's done two very beautiful songs; one's very political, one more personal." . . . Seeing as how well he articulated at the Grammys (haw!), it's no wonder the legendary Bob Dylan's been tapped to appear on the big screen in the tentatively titled Masked and Anonymous as a prison inmate named Jack Fate. Subtitles, unfortunately, not included. Dylan last graced the screen in 1987's Hearts of Fire. . . . If you didn't read the Spin cover story this month, you may have missed that Saturday Night Live's resident hottie Jimmy Fallon is putting out an honest-to-god rock record. Now though, a rep at Dreamworks tells us it's delayed till September due to clearance of some samples, so you'll have to wait a few more months to find out if Jimmy's got the goods. . . . And finally, our deepest sympathy to the friends and family of Jason McCullough of Seattle band SP Unlimited. Jason, who took his own life on March 1, was honored last weekend at a Graceland memorial. This Sunday at the Sunset Tavern in Ballard, Adam from Point One and Ty William are doing an acoustic set in his memory.
Send news flashes, sightings, and bitchy bits to nights@seattleweekly.com.
